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RAMSEY COUNTY The St. Paul Volunteer Fireman and the Battle of Gettysburg HıstoryA Publication of the Ramsey County Historical Society Page 13 Spring, 2003 Volume 38, Number 1

An ‘Attempt’ on His Life? Sitting Bull’s 1884 Visit to St. Paul —Page 4

Sitting Bull around 1880, just before his 1884 visit to St. Paul. Minnesota Historical Society photograph. See article beginning on page 4 on Sitting Bull’s visit and an alleged attempt on his life. Minnesota Historical Society photograph. 02 RCHS Sp03-Mast 6/12/03 7:45 PM Page 2

RAMSEY COUNTY HISTORY Executive Director RAMSEY COUNTY Priscilla Farnham Editor Virginia Brainard Kunz Hıstory RAMSEY COUNTY Volume 38, Number 1 Spring, 2003 HISTORICAL SOCIETY BOARD OF DIRECTORS James A. Russell C O N T E N T S Chair Marlene Marschall 3 Letters President 4 ‘A Shady Pair’ and an ‘Attempt on His Life’— George Mairs First Vice President Sitting Bull and His 1884 Visit to St. Paul W. Andrew Boss Paul D. Nelson Second Vice President 13 The St. Paul Fireman Who Rose to Command the First Judith Frost Lewis Secretary Minnesota Volunteer Infantry Regiment at Gettysburg Peter K. Butler Patrick Hill Treasurer 17 The Volunteer Pioneer Hook and Ladder Company Duke Addicks, Charles L. Bathke, W. Andrew Boss, Peter K. Butler, Norbert Conzemius, 18 Oakland Cemetery and Its First 150 Years Anne Cowie, Charlton Dietz, Charlotte H. Chip Lindeke Drake, Joanne A. Englund, Robert F. Garland, Howard Guthmann, Joan Higinbotham, Scott 19 Roots in the English John Wesley Hutton, Judith Frost Lewis, John M. Lindley, George A. Mairs, Marlene Marschall, Richard St. Paul’s First German Methodist Church T. Murphy, Sr., Richard Nicholson, Marla Helen Miller Dickison Ordway, Marvin J. Pertzik, Penny Harris Reynen, Glenn Weissner, Richard Wilhoit, 25 Growing Up in St. Paul Laurie Zenner, Ronald J. Zweber. ‘Homer Van Meter, a Member of the Karpis Gang, EDITORIAL BOARD Was Shot Across the Street from Our House’ John M. Lindley, chair; James B. Bell, Thomas Bernice Fisher H. Boyd, Thomas C. Buckley, Mark Eisenschenk, Pat Hart, Thomas J. Kelley, Tom Mega, Laurie Murphy, Richard H. Nicholson, Paul D. Nelson, Publication of Ramsey County History is supported in part by a gift from David Riehle, G. Richard Slade. Clara M. Claussen and Frieda H. Claussen in memory of Henry H. Cowie, Jr. and by a contribution from the late Reuel D. Harmon HONORARY ADVISORY BOARD Elmer L. Andersen, Olivia I. Dodge, Charlton The Society regrets an omission from the 2002 Donor Recognition Roll Dietz, William Finney, William Fallon, Robert in the Winter issue of Ramsey County History. The list of supporters should S. Hess, D. W. “Don” Larson, George Latimer, have included the name of Albert W. Lindeke, Jr., a generous and loyal supporter. Joseph S. Micallef, Robert Mirick, Marvin We apologize for this omission. J. Pertzik, James Reagan, Rosalie E. Wahl, Donald D. Wozniak. RAMSEY COUNTY COMMISSIONERS A Message from the Editorial Board Commissioner James McDonough, chairman Commissioner Susan Haigh n 1884 the Lakota Indian leader Sitting Bull visited St. Paul. Our feature article in this issue fo- Commissioner Tony Bennett Icuses on the circumstances of his two brief stays in the city that year and whether during the lat- Commissioner Rafael Ortega ter visit there was an attempt to assassinate the man who embodied so much of the conflict between Commissioner Victoria Reinhardt Commissioner Janice Rettman the white settlers and the native inhabitants of the American West. This issue also includes Civil Commissioner Jan Wiessner War historian Patrick Hill’s account of Wilson B. Farrell, a St. Paul volunteer fireman, who gave his life as a member of the First Minnesota Regiment in the Battle of Gettysburg and a brief salute to Paul Kirkwold, manager, Ramsey County the sesquicentennial of the founding of St. Paul’s Oakland Cemetery, where Farrell is now buried. Ramsey County History is published quarterly This issue concludes with Helen Miller Dickison’s history of today’s Fairmount Methodist Church, by the Ramsey County Historical Society, 323 Minnesota’s first German Methodist church, which celebrated its 150th anniversary in 2002. Landmark Center, 75 W. Fifth Street,St. Paul, Readers of Ramsey County History and anyone interested in the history of Ramsey County and Minn. 55102 (651-222-0701). Printed in U.S.A. St. Paul now have a new resource for history searches: the Society’s web site at www.rchs.com. On Copyright, 2003, Ramsey County Historical the site’s home page, the researcher can click on several links that are of value. One is “Ask the His- - Society. ISSN Number 0485 9758. All rights torian,” which provides questions and answers about the area’s history that recently have come to reserved. No part of this publication may be reprinted or otherwise reproduced Society staff members. Another briefly profiles the histories of some of St. Paul’s neighborhoods. without written permission from the pub- All the information on this link comes from the Society’s Ramsey County Historic Site Survey Re- lisher. The Society assumes no responsibility port, a major resource in the RCHS library. The final link on the Society web page connects the user for statements made by contributors. Fax 651- to information on the contents of the most recent issues of Ramsey County History and ties to a 223-8539; e-mail address [email protected].; complete listing of articles published in the magazine since its initial publication in 1964. We hope web site address www.rchs.com this new link will get many hits from users and increase awareness of the richness of the content of our magazine’s back issues. John M. Lindley, Chair, Editorial Board

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Growing Up in St. Paul ‘Homer Van Meter, a Member of the Karpis Gang, Was Shot Across the Street from Our House’ Bernice Fisher

ickey Mouse made his debut in 1928, and so did I. My parents, MJoseph Rousseau and Lillian St. Aubin Rousseau, were born in the United States, but their parents were born in Quebec. I grew up at 193 West University Av- enue, a brown and white bungalow on the north side of University between Rice and Marion streets. In 2002, it is the site of Ron Saxon’s car lot, St. Paul in the 1920s was a swinging town, a haven for bootleggers and crimi- nals. , “ Number 1,” and the Karpis gang hung out in local bars and rented a summer cabin on Bald Eagle Lake A member of the Karpis gang was shot and killed across the street from our house. Homer Van Meter tried to escape from the police by running down a dead end alley on the south side of University. I stood on the front porch and watched policemen jump out of squad cars and run up the alley. Van Meter was gunned down by St. Paul Police Chief Frank B. Cullen, former Chief Thomas A. Brown, and detectives Thomas McMahon and Jeff Dittrich. The Great Depression changed every- one’s life, but as a child, I was only dimly aware of its effects. The steady stream of shabby men who walked up and down University looking for jobs was, for me, the most visible sign of the depression. Bernice Rousseau (Fisher) with her doll and doll buggy at the age of five. All photographs Unshaven and downcast, they walked with this article are from the author. from one business to another asking for work, then stopped at our house for food people whose fortunes had been dimin- ing wallpaper. A few of Mrs. Lingane’s and a place to sit down and rest. They ate ished by the vagaries of Wall Street. Be- boarders did odd jobs around our house; the bowls of French onion soup my hind the flaking white boards and fading they painted the trim, hung storm win- mother gave them, thanked her and left. splendor, a stream of unfortunates came dows, or repaired anything which needed The boarding house two doors east of and went—people who rented a room by repair, since my father had no talent or us was a product of the depression, and the week or the month and got their interest in repairing anything. its people were part of my life. A large meals from Mrs. Lingane, a sweet-faced By 1931, University Avenue had been white house which must have seen better woman who served them in a dining widened to accommodate two lanes of days, it now sheltered a motley group of room with massive oak furniture and fad- traffic, with a center lane for streetcars.

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But progress had its price. Our house was moved back about thirty feet, while other houses were demolished. For the first time, our house had a basement. Our basement was, to me, a frighten- ing place.A black pit yawned beneath the house, a crawl space Dad wriggled through with a hot iron to thaw frozen water pipes when the temperature fell below zero. I never knew what nameless horrors this space might hold, but noth- ing would ever induce me to go down in the basement after nightfall. Even open- ing the basement door and getting some- thing from a shelf in the pantry was daunting. I avoided looking down into the inky blackness beyond the steps, fear- ing eye contact with some nameless hor- ror. Even as an adult, the basement gave me a queasy feeling. On a rented bike near Lake Phalen, aged ten. Two miles west of us, Lexington Ball Park, home of the St. Paul Saints baseball Bernice photographed at the age of five or team, hosted games between the Saints six by an itinerant photographer who owned and the Minneapolis Millers which my the pony. father attended on Sunday afternoons. By 1931 there were just four houses black and red logo. The room next to the left on our block: the boarding house two kitchen had a stove. I was always fasci- doors east of us, and our next door neigh- nated by the glass-distorted tongues of bors on the west, the Newells. The only fire glowing through the isinglass door. house left standing across the street was owned by a family named Wettschreck. Grandma Newell was an ancient lady Mr. Wettschreck was a locksmith with a with white hair and a “pug.” Every Satur- shop in a remodeled porch on the front of day she made soup, which she started his house. East of him was the Eagle cooking early in the morning and left to Laundry. simmer on her wood stove for the entire Down our block to the west, the day. During the summer, when our win- Reisinger brothers had a shop as unique dows were always open, I could smell the as the brothers themselves. A pair of Ger- soup cooking. If anyone at our house was man-born cobblers with heavy accents ill, Grandma sent over a jar of soup with and handlebar mustaches, they made a piece of wax paper fastened to the Bernice with Mrs. Pothen who rented a room shoes for people with deformed feet. A mouth with a rubber band. in their house. row of dust-covered plaster feet and I don’t think the Newells understood some dusty shoes were lined up in their my pressing need to use their bathroom around my neck, then put me on his horse front window. Had they been real feet, whenever I could, but I had never seen and took my picture. they couldn’t have disturbed me more. anything so elegant before. It had a tan Each time I walked past the shop, I marble sink and a raised bathtub bor- The most important places in my life stopped to stare at these deformed mon- dered in tan marble. The floor was an in- as a child were the corner drug store and strosities. tricate pattern of hexagon tiles. the hamburger shop. The Capital Drug The Newells, an Irish family whose My playmates in the early days all Store at the corner of Rice and University men worked for the Great Northern Rail- lived on Sherburne Avenue, which ran was, for me, an enchanted world. Al road, lived next door to us in a beige parallel to University one block north. In Malmrose, one of the owners, was a tall, house painted with gray trim. Grandma good weather, the ragman came down good looking man with graying hair who Newell had both a gas and a wood stove Sherburne Avenue with his horse-drawn annoyed me by calling me “Ducky- in her kitchen. A wall telephone hung on cart. The only other horse I had ever seen walky,” a nickname I had brought on my- the wall, and next to it, a Great Northern was the itinerant photographer who put a self by some childhood speech indiscre- Railroad calendar with a big swirling cowboy hat on my head and a red scarf tion. My parents often sent me to the drug

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store for a quart of ice cream as a special Department Store, and occasionally at I went to kindergarten and first grade treat on warm summer nights. The drug the Emporium and The Golden Rule, at the local public school, Scheffer, a big store had a lunch counter, presided over which later became Donaldson’s. After- brownstone building on Thomas and by Ida, a tall lady in a rust-colored cotton wards, we went to W. T. Grant’s on Sev- Marion Streets. I can still smell the odor uniform. enth and Cedar for lunch, which was usu- of chalk dust and old wood. The hamburger shop on Rice Street ally a roast beef sandwich soaked in Learning to read was one of my child- between Sherburne and University Av- gravy. hood’s first adventures, and discovering enues was a special place where the odor If the weather was good, we walked the library was another. I remember my of fried onion and hamburger enticed downtown on Sunday afternoons to see a introduction to a public library. The first passers-by. On special summer days, our movie. In the Thirties and Forties, down- book I signed out of the branch library at mothers would let us buy hamburgers for town St. Paul had eight theaters. My Scheffer playground was The Arabian lunch, a major culinary treat, since we mother’s favorite was the Lyceum, on Nights, which I read from beginning to rarely ate out. Wabasha between Eighth and Ninth end in a few hours. Reading became my We had many visits by strangers—the Streets. Besides a film, the Lyceum had a great escape to more interesting worlds Fuller Brush man, the insurance agent vaudeville show with hypnotists, jug- than the dull one I inhabited. who collected fifty cents a week on our glers, and magicians who could make In 1934 the Dionne Quintuplets were insurance policy, and the Jewel Tea man, rabbits disappear. born in Ontario. Besides being the first who delivered coffee, spices and vanilla. My dad’s favorite theater was the single-sex quints ever to survive, they After Mom had collected enough Tower, on Wabasha between Seventh were a source of great pride for the coupons, she got a bonus. The one I re- and Sixth Streets. It showed what were French-Canadian community. My par- member best was a set of mixing bowls called “B” movies, all in double features. ents read and discussed the many news- with red poppies. Only one remains, and Sometimes we went to the Garrick on paper articles about them. Dad cut their the red poppies have been worn off by Sixth and St. Peter Streets. All three the- colored photograph out of the Sunday Pi- the dishwasher. aters had cheaper admissions than the oneer Press magazine section and hung it Most people we knew had ice boxes. Paramount or the Orpheum, the “first in the kitchen. Charlie Ward, the presi- An ice box had a compartment at the top run” theaters, showing top-rated films. dent of Brown & Bigelow, brought the for a block of ice. Three days a week, the The World Theater, now the Fitzgerald, quints to St. Paul so they could ride on ice delivery truck stopped in front of our on Ninth and Wabasha, was off limits, the company’s float in the St. Paul Win- house, signaled by a cardboard sign on because films condemned by the Legion ter Carnival Parade, and he published the front porch. The ice man, his shoul- of Decency were often shown there. The calendars with their pictures. ders protected by a heavy rubber cape, other two theaters were the Riviera, on The Great Depression ended with the carried the chunk of ice slung across his Wabasha, and the Strand, across the Second World War, which brought jobs shoulder and held steady with a huge pair street. to the jobless in ammunition plants in of tongs, and put it in our icebox on our Every summer we went to the Como Rosemount and New Brighton. These closed-in back porch. Sometimes we Park Zoo, where giraffes were my fa- were the years that brought women into chipped ice off the block with a pick and vorite animals, and where I acquired a the work force in large numbers and put it in our cold drinks. The ice melted life-long dislike for monkeys because of changed the social structure of American into a pan beneath the icebox, and it was my parents’ insistence that they were “so life. my job to empty the pan every day so it cute." A visit to the Conservatory was al- When I started kindergarten in Sep- wouldn’t spill over and ruin the floor ways part of our agenda. tember, 1933, America was in the throes When an ice house opened for busi- Religion was important in our lives. of the depression, and Franklin D. Roo- ness on Galtier and University, my My mother and I walked downtown to St. sevelt was president of the United States. mother decided it would be cheaper to Louis Church every Sunday, home for Hitler was coming into power and would haul our own ice. We took one of the row dinner, usually stewed chicken or roast soon march into Poland and Czechoslo- of ice carts they provided, hauled the ice pork, and back in the afternoon for Ves- vakia. By 1942, when I graduated from home, put it in the ice box, then returned pers. We attended High Mass, where the the eighth grade, my generation was the cart. When I was eight or so, return- sermons were always in French. fighting a war that would end with the ing the cart was my chore. The Saint Aubins and the Vandelacs dawn of the Atomic Age. Since my father’s Essex went to work had come to America in the 1850s, so by with him, my mother and I went every- the time I was born, many of my relatives Bernice (Rousseau) Fisher attended Me- where by streetcar during the day—to had married Irishmen, Germans or chanic Arts High School in St. Paul from Minneapolis, where we spent time near Swedes and were proud of their assimila- 1942 to 1946. After graduating from the Lake Harriet, or to visit distant relatives. tion into the mainstream culture, but I College of St. Catherine, she taught high Sometimes we walked downtown, about grew up bilingual, since French persisted school English in schools in Minnesota, a mile away. My mother enjoyed shop- as the language of choice among my including a twenty-four year stint at Hill- ping in downtown St. Paul at Bannon’s mother and our relatives. Murray High School in Maplewood.

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“Little Sure Shot,” Annie Oakley. Photograph from the Annie Oakley Foundation Collection, Greenville, Ohio. See article beginning on page 4.

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